


Midsummer Veil

by ahimsabitches



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Blowjobs, Cherry Blossoms, Crown Prince Iroh, Doggy Style, F/M, Iroh pre-defeat, Kept Woman, sex in a garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8439343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches
Summary: Iroh gives Harua a treat...s.
This is a prequel to my fic Kept Woman.





	

Harua wasn’t sure what had earned her this treat, but she wasn’t _about_ to fuss.

Prince Iroh walked her slowly along a stone bridge with a back like a frightened cat. Schools of marvelously carved and painted wooden fish leapt up from the base of the bridge as railings, but she didn’t need them, not when she walked on her Prince’s strong arm and had his steady presence beside her. 

Even through the semi-transparent pink veil he’d had her wear, the royal gardens were _sublime_.

Harua tried to be prim and correct, with head tucked and eyes front, but every garden she’d seen– and the ones she’d grown herself– could no more compare to this than a cricket-mouse could compare herself to a moose-lion. Green, in every shape and size and shade, rioted on the ground and in the air, dotted and dusted occasionally with blooms in a joyous summer rainbow. Crystalline streams like the one they crossed wandered in snakelike loops through the gardens, the smooth round stones over which they chuckled turned into rare gems by the sunlight glinting off the water. Trees rustled their leaves kindly in breezes perfumed with a dozen different scents. She raised her head and scented the air with a wise nose. Wisteria, jasmine, rose, quince, katsura, and myriad other scents flitted past her and for a blissful moment, she lost herself in the affectionate green around her.

“Harua,” he gruffed beside her and gently pulled her to a stop. He gazed at her with unreachable golden eyes set in pockets of deepening lines, but neither those nor the thick grey streaks threading his ravenblack beard and hair diminished the imperious set of his shoulders under the maroon-and-gold uniform of his station: first general, Crown Prince, right hand of his father the Fire Lord.   

Her heart somersaulted and a blush crept up her pale, powdered face. “Y-yes, Prince?”

A corner of his mouth rose imperceptibly. “When do cherry trees bloom?”

“Er. It depends on climate. Here, I’d say… around now. Midsummer,” she said bashfully. Usually he did not ask her questions. Usually he did not remove her from the shed-turned-apartment he’d set up for her at the edge of the royal estate. And he _certainly_ didn’t parade her around on his arm, veil or no veil, like a suitor and his intended.

He walked her around a sharp bend in the cobbled trail, which ended abruptly at another decorated railing looking out over a pond. 

But the pond was absolutely lost on Harua. Her jaw fell as she gazed at the vast pink detonation all around her.

She took a step forward, unconsciously reaching for the wooden railing at waist-height. Cherry blossoms, as delicately pink as her veil, floated sporadically down from the petaled roof; a sky full of pale pink snow. Dark brown limbs and trunks sliced up through the blooms like lightning in negative. Her chest began to burn and only then did she realize she’d forgotten to breathe. She sucked in a breath flavored with airy sweetness so delicate and shy it broke her heart. She swept her head slowly from side to side, her veil rippling against her cheek and tears brimming in her eyes. 

Suddenly she was aware of Prince Iroh behind her, against her back. He placed his thick, warm hands on her waist and Harua felt a different breeze on the back of her neck: his breath. She suppressed a shiver.

“You see now why I insisted on the pink one,” he said. The Prince’s hands working her kimono open weren’t enough to tear her eyes away from the gently swaying blossom-clouds around her, made even more dreamlike by the gauzy pinkness of her veil. Heat rose in her, both in her cheeks and in her belly. He pushed her against the railing. She gripped it tightly. Her heart mule-kicked her ribs. Exhiliaration and trepidation dogged each other in her mind.

“P-prince Iroh, shouldn’t we…won’t we be seen?”

“If we are, the guards I paid will lose a lot more than their purses,” he rumbled into her neck. She gasped as his wiry beard and the rutting-animal sound of his voice, the lustful _heat_ of it, flooded her senses. Along with it came a small skitter of vestigial fear. Though he’d never given her any reason to fear him– quite the contrary– he was still a powerful man, in every sense. Harua could see that power in his falcon-sharp eyes, in the thick knots of muscle stacked on his frame, and she could feel it in the deep rasp in his voice and the greedy, burning grip of his battle-hardened hands.

But the fear only served to kindle the spark in her belly he’d started. She’d been in the Prince’s service for a little over two years, and so had catalogued– and begun to anticipate– his moods, his needs, his methods, his pleasures. But this was new, at least for her, and the breathless beauty of the garden only added to the thrill.

Her obi slipped to the petal-littered cobbles in a whisper of silk and Prince Iroh’s demanding hands moved over her belly, her ribs, her tits– they paused there and squeezed, and she bent her neck to give him access to the flesh there– and then back down. He slid two thick fingers into her pussy, already soaked and ready, oh, _ready_ for her Prince. His low, savage growl at her neck and the urgent press of his cock against her bottom stole her breath and, against her will, her eyes slipped closed. He undid his own robes with one hand and bent her over the wooden railing with the other pressed between her shoulderblades. The veil hung out over the water but she may as well have been looking through it still; the gently rippling pond was flecked with fallen petals like fleabites on an old ostrich-horse. The unfallen blooms in the trees trembled in the pond’s reflection.

Prince Iroh pawed her kimono away from her bottom and an instant later his cock slid deliciously into her. She moaned, but he’d pushed all the air from her lungs with his cock and his weight pinning her against the railing.

He slammed into her fast and pulled out slow, one hand at the back of her neck and the other braced against her. The wood bit painfully into her hipbones and ribcage on each in-thrust, but the pain was distant and meaningless. Harua curled her hands into claws and gritted her teeth against sobs of pleasure. As wonderful as this was, she knew her place, and to draw unwanted attention, even the guards’, would damage the Prince. And that she could not abide. 

She knew her place, and by Prince Iroh’s benevolence, her place was _here_ in this sanctuary of warm beauty, at Prince Iroh’s pleasure; at his mercy.

Prince Iroh murmured something she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing past her ears. Before she could ask, he hauled her upright by her upswirled hair. She couldn’t help a little yelp of pain, but he didn’t seem to care. He kept her head craned back next to his, her back arched almost to its limit, and thrusted and grunted. Now she could gaze only at the lightly trembling ceiling of blooms, her veil belling and sinking against her open mouth. Prince Iroh had her utterly, one broad arm across her chest, the hand clutching her left breast, the other clamped in her hair. It began to escape the elaborate bun in which she’d arranged it, but she could not move. She didn’t want to.

Prince Iroh’s cock was hot and hard and ruthless and it filled her, _filled her_ , filled her with heat and pain and pleasure and everything he needed to spill into her; all the frustrations and vexations and deferrals and denials he could no longer bear. And she would take all of it gladly, as she’d taken it before and would take it all again, as long as he’d have her, because she was his woman, _his_.

He slowed his thrusts, and Harua knew what that meant. Even though she was not close to release herself, her heart jumped with anticipation and hot liquid pleasure swirled deep and low in her. His gusting breath was so hot against her neck it nearly scalded her, but she gave no sign or sound. For a moment, he buried his face in the hollow of her neck and groaned, the sound of a bitterly wounded and wanting beast. 

Then, in one viciously quick motion, he pulled out of her, spun her to face him, and tore her veil away.

They were of a height. Their eyes met: fierce gold with doebrown. The flame in them, a lethal, wild thing under control but only just, threatened to consume her, and her knees buckled. 

It was what he’d wanted anyway; he shoved her down with one hand on her shoulder and hooked the other hand around the back of her head to bring it forward. Reflexively, worshipfully, she opened her mouth and received her Prince. 

He jutted his hips forward and his iron-hard cock slammed into the soft back of her throat. She gagged, swallowed, suppressed another gag, then breathed and remembered her place. It was here, _here_ , in the pink garden, on her knees for her Prince, at his pleasure, at his mercy. _His_.

She sucked and her cheeks sunk against his cock. He groaned deep in his chest and wavered a little, steadying himself with a tighter grip on her head. She didn’t have much room to make an in-and-out rhythm, but what he did allow her she used, swirling her tongue around his cock, around that sensitive place at the arrowhead-shaped meeting of head and shaft.

Prince Iroh growled something– it could have been her name but that could have been wishful thinking– and his breath caught. He mashed her face against his crotch with both hands and she smelled his rich male scent and thought it almost as pleasing a perfume as the garden which was, at least for a little while, no longer a part of her world.

His cock twitched and pumped warm, thick come into her mouth. She swallowed it quickly, moving her mouth to extend his pleasure and draw out of him as much as she could. He rewarded her with a protracted sigh of relief and slight twitches against her as his orgasm unwound.

After a little while, his cock softened and he relaxed his grip on her head. She slid her mouth off him and flicked her eyes upward. His eyes rose like tiny twin suns over the rippling, mountainous topography of his belly and chest. The golden flame in them burned benevolently now. He lifted his chin. _Up_. She obeyed, placing a smile on her face. 

It was not her place to guess at Prince Iroh’s thoughts, but she did nevertheless. Or she tried. It was a natural enough impulse; after all, she had grown to know the run of his sexual desires so well, and part of her– a large part– yearned to know what was behind the expressionless golden gaze that rode regularly on his face. 

He cupped her shoulders in his hands and for a moment she thought he would pull her in for a kiss, but he gently spun her around.

Oh _yes_ , the cherry blossoms. She drank in the blissful sight, made new again, while he closed his robes, tied hers, and affixed the veil to her now half-fallen hair. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. 

Prince Iroh stood at the railing beside her. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

Her heart flipped for a reason she couldn’t name. “I– No, Prince.”

He reached out his hand. A falling blossom landed in it. He placed it in her hair. “The blossoms remind me of you.”


End file.
